Second Chances
by uhpockuhlipz
Summary: Santana has a hard life from the beginning, but when a chance encounter leads her to Brittany Pierce, she must rethink everything she thought she knew about life, love, and happy endings. This is her second chance. Will she take it? Brittana sort of AU. [HIATUS]
1. Loveless: Prologue

**A/N: So. I got this plot request on tumblr annddd decided to attempt this somewhat AU fic… Since This Isn't Dating is wrapping up, I figured I might as well overlap this and start another multi-chapter fic. Because I don't have enough going on in my life. Hahaha. So. Here we go. (: Feel free to comment with any questions or whatever. I try to respond to all my reviews.**

**Prologue**

People thought she didn't understand when it happened. She was only eight, so why would she? It started off as it usually did: she woke up hungry. Santana was always hungry. There was never enough food. Never enough anything, really, but right now she was cold and tired and sore from the belt she'd taken to her backside earlier and she just wanted something little to munch on. Plus, she could take her mother's blanket if she was out. She didn't notice anything when she had the funny smelling drinks. As long as she put it back in the living room before she woke up again, she wouldn't get the belt.

At least not for that.

Slowly she crept out of the cramped room she'd been provided (it was actually a closet, but Santana didn't know that), hoping her mother had passed out by now and she could sneak some bread from the refrigerator. It was silent in the main room, only the static from the small TV's screen illuminating the way as she made to tip-toe towards the refrigerator in the corner. It mostly had the funny smelling drinks in that she didn't like, but there was always water from the bathroom sink and she only wanted some food anyways. A sound alerted her a second before she stepped into the TV's light and she froze, eyes darting over to the couch. Her mother was there, but so was a man. She didn't like when the men came over. They were never the same and they always did not-nice things with her mother. Sometimes it was the shots, needles sliding under skin at the elbow. Sometimes it was the funny smelling drinks, and lots of them. Sometimes they ate weird candies or smelled what looked like salt to Santana. And always, every time, the man would be on top of her mother, grunting, pushing into her, making weird noises. Santana had missed the first part and walked in on the second. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She hated the second part.

She must have hinted that she was there because suddenly they were freezing and Santana's mother was pushing the man off of her, rolling off the couch with her bleary eyes locked on Santana. "What're you doing out here, you little shit?" she slurred in Spanish, and Santana could tell that it was the salt today. Her small body tensed immediately and she stepped back away from her mother as the woman stood, swayed, stepped towards her. "Get back in your fuckin' bed. Get out!" She took another step forward, lurched towards her daughter before tripping over herself and crashing into a wall. The man stood then and yelled at her mother- not because of Santana, but because of the fact she'd stopped him in the middle of his pushing and grunting. Her mother yelled back. Every angry word had Santana backing slowly towards her little closet. The first time his fist came up and smashed into her mother's face, she ran back, shut the door, and curled up into a ball atop her little mat with a ratty stuffed dog gripped in one hand and pressed to her ear while her free hand pressed to the other.

That's how they found her.

Someone – a neighbor – mentioned to one of the cops that a child lived with Rosetta Lopez. They would have never guessed it looking at the apartment, as there was no sign of anyone other than the dead woman they'd just zipped up and carried out, but after a search, they found her huddled in the corner of the closet. She wasn't crying. Her dark, wide eyes were filled with shock, but they were dry as she stared at the officer who'd found her. He saw a small, too-thin, battered child ready to bolt, one who had been frightened so badly that she'd hid in a closet. Instantly there was pity.

She knew who he was. Or rather, she knew what he was. Her mother had taught her to never trust the police, but she couldn't figure out what she was supposed to be doing. She could only stare at the man in blue. He was talking to her, she realized, but Santana didn't know English. She watched him talk, watched his lips moving without any sort of comprehension. She wanted to ask him, but she didn't want to talk to him. He was a cop. He was a man. _Cosas malas_, she thought darkly as she squeezed her hands harder over her ears.

When the cops tried to lift her from the closet, she kicked and screamed and repeated all of her mother's meanest words in stuttered Spanish. Still, they carried her out. And then put her into the system, because who else was going to care for the child who only had a dead mother?

She wished her daddy was still around. When her daddy had been around, her mother had been happy. No one had yelled and he had loved her. She didn't know what had happened to him except that one day she'd woken up and he was gone. Her mother was drinking the funny smelling drinks saying, "no one goes to Heaven, mija. Heaven doesn't exist. God doesn't exist. Don't let them feed you that bullshit. There's no such thing as happiness." Her mother said a lot of things she didn't understand, but she remembered them all, and later they would make more sense. Way later.

They tried to reassure her by telling her that her mother was in Heaven now, but she didn't believe them. No Heaven, no God, no happy endings. That much she'd taken from her mother. She had loved her mother, even if she had made a lot of mistakes.

They thought she didn't understand, but she knew a lot more than people gave her credit for.


	2. Casting the Stone

**I know next to nothing about foster care, so forgive any mistakes. Hope you enjoy. (:**

By the time she was eleven years old, Santana Lopez fucking hated everything. She'd been through five foster homes in those three short years since her mother's death and had decided before even entering middle school that she hated Ohio and every fucking thing in it. By the time she's fourteen, she'd stopped counting and had decided before entering high school that she hated people in general. She had walls so high that her state-appointed psychiatrist had nicknamed her The Fortress in her notes- which Santana knew because she'd once hacked the woman's computer to read her own file.

When she was sixteen and her foster family once again traded her in (this one had lasted about two weeks, which was a new personal record), her social worker decided to cut her a deal. They were driving to her next placement and Santana sat with her arms folded across her chest, eyes staring through the darkness of early morning. Another day, another placement in fucking Ohio. God fucking damn it, she wanted to get the fuck out of this stupid state. "Santana." She glanced sideways at the woman who'd been her personal public servant for the last three years. She was nice enough, the young Latina supposed, if a bit stressed like… all the time. Santana's constant shift in placement was a big part of it she imagined and the idea had her smirking to herself. "These people we're placing you with, they aren't new to this game. They've had troubled teenagers like yourself in and out of their house for years, so don't think you'll be able to pull your usual crap with them. They have their own kids, too. One daughter about your age."

She snorted quietly, shoulders jerking up in a bitter shrug as she looked out her window once more. Like these ones would be any different from any of the other _I know how to make you change _assholes she'd met. Maybe they'd hit her. It had happened before. Well, the second anyone's hand touched her, she'd cut a bitch and peace the fuck out. "By the time I'm done with them, Cap, they'll be pissing themselves like a couple of fucking girl scouts," she replied smugly.

Carla Appleton sighed. Santana was one of her harder cases, handed off to her by a particularly harried early-retiree. He had been with Santana since the age of eight, but like most people in the young girl's life, he'd abandoned her. He just couldn't handle the pressure of the job anymore. All of those lives he couldn't save, he'd told Carla. All those kids who were homeless and helpless and he couldn't do a thing about it. She didn't blame him – social workers had a high burnout rate – but Santana did. She hated him, as she had learned to hate most people. People, she'd told Carla when the woman had started working with her, couldn't be trusted. People sucked. People left. The only one looking out for you is _numero uno. _It had taken a long time for Santana to even look at her without all that bitterness in her face, and sometimes she still did. This was one girl, she thought, that she just had to get to her eighteenth birthday so that she'd be out on her own. Then she would be the cops' problem. Not that she wasn't already, but Carla wouldn't be the one receiving those phone calls in the middle of the night from her office or upset foster parents or the police themselves. "You could give them a chance, you know," she tried, as she did every time she moved Santana.

"No, I couldn't," she replied as she always did, voice flat.

Another sigh. All right, time to cut the deal. "You have less than two years until you're eighteen, Santana-"

"Fuck yes!"

"-And as you know, that means you will no longer be a ward of the state. You'll be free to go and do as you please. However," she went on before Santana could comment, "You have to remember that you have your entire life ahead of you. What you make of these last two years… That's up to you. But I'll tell you what. You stay with these people, you make it through these last two years without getting arrested or pregnant, then I will personally pay for one of the following. College tuition _or _a plane ticket to wherever you want to go to start over. But you get in trouble once, that deal's off the table. Got it?"

There was a long silence as Santana contemplated the deal. Like hell she was going to fucking college – more school? No way – but a plane ticket to wherever would be valuable. She was smart enough that she could make eighteen without any effort and without getting caught by the police. As for getting pregnant, well, that was a fucking joke. No way she'd let some guy fuck her without suiting up. Hell, she hardly ever had sex anyway. She found it appalling, good for only getting what she needed from a guy before ditching him.

"So? Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," she replied with a nod, and Carla smiled.

Just in time for their arrival.

Russell and Judy Fabray were all smiles when Carla and Santana arrived at the door. The social worker seemed pleased, but all Santana could see was this cold gleam to the man's eyes and an almost absent quality to the woman's. The last time a couple like this had been her foster parents, there had been fists from the father and screaming from the mother and a hospital visit for Santana. She'd been twelve. You'd think they would screen their foster parents more carefully, but she supposed they couldn't be picky now when it came to her. There were only so many places she could go.

"You must be Santana!" Judy cooed, all smiles and warm, reaching hands. Santana flinched away before those perfectly elegant fingers could make contact and she instantly stopped reaching, one hand lifting to toy with the gold cross around her neck. The smile didn't falter. Santana wondered if she was used to people not wanting her to touch them, or if it was just the "troubled teenagers" that they apparently hosted so often that avoided contact. "We're so happy to welcome you to our home, honey. It's felt a bit empty since our daughter Elizabeth graduated and went out on her own. It's just us and Quinn now." She smiled and Santana scowled. Quinn. What the fuck kind of name was Quinn for a chick?

"Don't mind Judy," the husband pitched in with a too-loud laugh. "I'm afraid she's suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome. You'd think Quinn was grown and gone now instead of a sophomore in high school." He grinned down at his wife and she laughed quietly. The perfect fucking couple, Santana thought. At least, that's what they wanted Carla to think. She sent the woman in question an _are-you-fucking-kidding-me-right-now? _look, but she wasn't paying attention. Instead, she was shaking hands and stepping inside when the Fabrays shifted, motioning for Santana to follow. Lugging her single suitcase and the backpack she had slung over her shoulder, she did so. Not because she wanted to, but because… where else would she go? Maybe she could be a bit of a punk, but she wasn't a moron. Kids like her survived better in houses than on the street, and the Fabrays are her ticket to freedom as soon as she turned eighteen. She wouldn't blow this.

The house was like. Perfection. Her gaze slowly ran over the pristine living room, noted the crucifix over the fireplace and the way not a single thing was out of place. Well, certainly a step up from her last dump. Then again, those foster parents had about eight foster kids total and didn't bother spending the money they got for them on anything _for _them. This was more like a stage and she might have believed they'd set it all up just for this visit if she wasn't certain the untouched quality of the place suited the frigid couple down to the ground. Dark eyes flickered to a locked liquor cabinet in the corner, noted several half-empty bottles through the rippled glass. Maybe there was more under the surface than Carla realized. Well, at least the stay would be an interesting one.

"You must be Santana."

The quiet voice had Santana spinning, her muscles tensed in automatic defense even though she still clutched her suitcase. The daughter, Quinn, she mused. Should have expected something like this- the perfect blonde, gorgeous, outfitted in a cheerleading uniform. The letters WMHS were emblazoned on her chest in red, white, and black. Silence stretched between them and after a minute of it, said blonde lifted her hands to rest on her hips, one perfectly sculpted brow winging up. Santana smirked and looked back at her, stared directly into irritated hazel eyes. People like Quinn, they didn't like when people challenged the authority they exuded.

"Well, you aren't completely unfortunate looking," the blonde said at last, her smile icy. "I was expecting some scrawny child, but you are… definitely not that." As Santana had, Quinn took a moment to study the newest member of her household. Her eyes ran down the length of her, took her in with an expression so critical, any lesser person might have squirmed under the scrutiny. The fact Santana didn't could be either a pleasant surprise or a threat. Quinn vowed to find out which she was as soon as possible. "It's… interesting to meet you, Santana. I'm-"

"Quinn Fabray," she finished for her, her smirk increasing when Quinn frowned. "Let me guess. Straight A student, perfect Christian, do-gooder, captain of whatever team this uniform is for, a plethora of other extracurricular activities. Am I close?" The blonde frowned. Actually, Santana was spot on, though she wouldn't refer to herself as perfect. The fact irritated her. She didn't like when new elements caught her off-guard as Santana had, and she didn't like people she didn't know knowing about her before she had the chance to know them. "I'll take your silence as a yes." Santana rolled dark eyes and dropped her luggage in the center of the living room floor before she circled the room and took in the details. Her fingers fell on the lock of the liquor cabinet, the tip of one running over it as if to judge the size of the key it needed. "Look, Fabray. I'm not here to step on your toes and I'm not about to fuck up what I've got going for me now because you have a stick up your ass."

"You don't know me-"

"Oh yeah, I do." And Santana's voice was so certain that Quinn's mouth snapped shut, her annoyed gaze narrowing as the Latina spun to face her. "I have known plenty of people like you, Quinn Fabray. I have less than two years until I can get the fuck out, okay? I won't get in your way if you won't get in mine."

Though her eyes were still narrowed, the blonde seemed to consider. Again her eyes ran down and up the length of her parents' newest charity case. She'd expected a beaten, defeated, useless girl and instead faced someone who was obviously very independent. Santana, as it turned out, had some ferocity. Ferocity, she suddenly thought, that helped teams win. Slowly, very slowly, her smile returned. "I have a better idea," she said, stepping forward. "How athletic are you, Lopez?"

Santana eyed the blonde's uniform, smirked, and shook her head. "Fuck off, Fabray," she returned in an overly sweet tone. "No way am I joining your little cheer group or whatever the fuck. School spirit isn't my thing, _comprende?" _They stared each other down for a long moment, neither girl willing to look away. When strong personalities like theirs clashed, it never boded well. At last, Quinn smiled again.

"That wasn't quite what I was inferring, Lopez. I think you'll find that the Cheerios are more of a challenge than you're able to handle. I was suggesting that you might make it as a towel girl. Maybe." Her expression went from smug to hard in an instant, dark eyes narrowed sharply as she glared.

"You think I can't stick your fucking backflips or whatever? We'll see, Fabray. We'll fucking see."

"Ah, I see you two have met." The two girls spun to find Russell and Judy smiling at them, oblivious to the tension between the two of them. "Wonderful. Quinn, why don't you show Santana to her room and then you two should probably leave for the school. Santana, I know you probably didn't get too much sleep last night-"

"Don't worry about it," Santana interrupted, and there was a brief flash of irritation on Russell Fabray's face before he covered it. Ah, daddy wasn't used to getting cut off. Well, he'd have to suck it up. She wasn't going to change to please these fucking people. "I don't need a lot of sleep." Sleep brought on nightmares, even all these years later. She didn't wake up screaming like she did when she'd been young, but they still had the power to jolt her out of sleep two or three times a night. No, she was used to very little sleep.

"Good. Then I hope you enjoy William McKinley. Quinn."

"Yes, daddy." And then the blonde led Santana up the stairs so that she could put her suitcase in her room before they left for the high school.

**Okay so. This wasn't exactly the best update, but I figured I'd just get the plot settled and shtuff… So yeah.**


	3. Meaningful Motives

**People can't wait to meet Brittany! Well…**

The school was bigger than Santana expected, but it doesn't really bother her. After all, she'd been living in Columbus for like a year or something like that before being shipped to Lima to live out the rest of her life in state custody. Well, hopefully. If she didn't go batshit crazy trying to survive in a place so boring. She figured she'd be good, though, as long as she kept her social worker's promise in mind. Less than two years and she'd have her ticket to anywhere. _Anywhere. _She just had to make sure the Fabrays kept her around, or that it wasn't her fault if they decided to ditch her. Hopefully the deal still applied if they made the choice, not her.

Quinn ditched the second they got there. "Cheerios practice," she said, and Santana assumed Cheerios was either a really lame name for a cheerleading squad or some bullshit euphemism or something. Probably the former since the girl was wearing a cheer bitch uniform and a cross around her neck. "Come by if you feel like it, Lopez. Coach Sylvester likes to scout out new talent before the sports teams find them." Santana wanted to demand that Quinn tell her why she thought she'd be interested in _anything _athletic, but the blonde was already gone and she was left standing on the front steps of the school. Inside was empty. Turned out that the cheerleaders practiced for two hours before school so she was fucking early. Quinn also had glee club practice after school, so Santana would have to wait for that as well. What the fuck was a glee club, anyways? Perfect.

For about twenty minutes, Santana wandered the school before she got bored. Why not see what Fabray was bragging about, right? Not that she was interested in it because no way would she ever wear that uniform, but it was better than getting the suspicious looks from the creepy looking janitor with the teapot. She wandered the grounds with her hands shoved deep into the back pockets of faded jeans. They were old, the rips in the knees from use rather than design. Paired with the simple black tank top and broken in sneakers, they made her look every inch the poor charity case she was. Judy Fabray had pursed her lips and mentioned a shopping trip to her before she left, but Santana had no intentions of letting the woman buy her clothes. She liked what she had and she'd lived well off of it for years. No need to get new stuff now. Besides, she didn't like owing people things.

It didn't take long to find the field, and when she did, she climbed into the bleachers to watch. The group moved with military precision, a blur of red, white, and black as they ran back and forth in set upon set of suicides while a tall, blonde woman with a megaphone barked orders at them. Even from the edge of the field Santana could hear her and it made her eyebrows wing up. Quinn didn't mention that her coach – she was assuming this woman was who she meant – was a drill sergeant. Interesting. Santana folded her arms over her up-drawn knees and then dropped her chin on top of them, dark eyes glued to the field as they launched into a routine. They were pretty damned good. Even Santana, who didn't know the difference between a touchdown and a home run, could see that this was a well-trained and uniformed team. They ran through the routine with the Latina looking on, curious despite herself. She could make out Quinn, just barely, in the front of the girls. Of course she was the freakin' captain. Santana had called that one. "You look like a bunch of sloppy babies!" the blonde woman shouted into her megaphone, her voice instantly grating. "Maybe we should pull out of competition until you graduate to big girl panties!" Santana smirked, eyeing the girl who was her current foster sister. She had to hand it to her; the girl didn't as much as flinch under the harsh criticism of her dominatrix. Then again, she was probably used to it.

"And you! Hooters! Come here." There was a pause in the demanding voice, and then it came again, louder this time. "Sandbags, I understand that you're probably fresh off the sombrero truck that smuggled you over the border, so let me make this clear. When Sue Sylvester says jump, you find the nearest cliff. Got me?" It's the comment about border hopping that has Santana looking from Quinn back to the coach, dark eyes meeting her sharp, direct gaze. It is then that she realizes the woman is talking to her, beckoning her across the field. For a moment, she considers not bothering. She didn't want anything to do with this group of their stupid back flips, however amazingly coordinated. She didn't want to deal with the bitchy coach or the slutty, annoying girls. But then she remembered Quinn's challenge from earlier and she stood, hands sliding into her back pockets again as she sauntered across to them.

"I'm Puerto Rican, not Mexican," she said in lieu of a greeting, her strong features set into harsh lines as she studied the older woman close up. She was tall- like, really tall. She was also older than Santana had thought and there was no humor in her features. Growing up as she had, Santana had to learn fast how to judge a person on a single glance. This woman was a strong, cold bitch. She could respect that, but she wouldn't get behind it. No way she was going to play a part in Sue Sylvester's game- at least, she was pretty sure that's the name the woman had called herself.

"Q." Her voice was quiet now as her narrowed eyes assessed Santana for the first time. "Run it again while I talk to your charity case." There was no argument from Quinn, and a moment later Santana heard her call out for the team to reassemble and start again. The young Latina never let her eyes flicker from Sue's. She knew if she did, the older woman would see it as a sign of weakness. Well, Santana Motherfucking Lopez was not weak. She'd stood up to far worse than Sue Sylvester, so no way would she back down now. "Q tells me that you have potential, that you have the attitude to back up the uniform. Well I say to you-"

"Not interested."

Silence. Even the cheerleaders have fallen quiet, their eyes all on their coach and the small, fiery girl who had interrupted her. No one ever interrupted Sue Sylvester. It was unheard of. Yet here was this new girl, cutting her off before she'd even gotten to the point. Had anyone ever turned down an opportunity to join, or at least try out for, the Cheerios? Yet another unseen event that had them whispering, their eyes not daring to look in Santana's direction. And yet, she felt eyes other than Sue's on her. "Not… interested?" Sue repeated, as if she hadn't quite heard the words. Her mind could not wrap around the idea of someone denying her before she'd even made the offer.

"Not even a little, lady. Sorry, to disappoint, but…. No, wait. Not actually sorry." Smirking, she turned away and headed back towards the school. Sometimes she had no clue why she did the things she did, like say no before even giving the idea a chance. Maybe she _could _be good on a time like this, but she had no plans to ever find out. The Cheerios had restarted their routine by the time she was conscious of her surroundings again, but she still felt like someone was watching her. Someone other than the bitch cheerleading coach she had just shot down. Slowly, very slowly, her head turned back towards the group of uniformed girls.

And there she was.

Santana had no clue who she was – duh, she didn't know who any of them were except Quinn – but she was not bothering trying to hide the fact she was staring. There was a smile on her face, and when she caught Santana's eye, her hand raised in a cheerful wave. It caught her so off-guard that her hand started to raise in order to wave back before she caught herself and scowled. What the fuck? Pausing halfway off the field, Santana stared back at the cheerleader, hands in her back pockets and eyes defiant. She could make out only vague features from where she stood, a tall, long body with dancer's legs and blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. The eyes were impossible to make out from a distance, but their intensity was obvious as she looked back at Santana with that damned smile still in place. Her scowl deepened. Motivation was usually simple to judge for her, but she couldn't tell what the girl was thinking.

She decided to chalk it up to the distance.

Santana forced herself to turn away, returning to the school to begin her first day. New building, same Hell. But the feeling of that stare lingered in the back of her mind for the entirety of the day.

When Fabray went into the choir room, she didn't invite Santana and Santana didn't even try to follow her in. As far as she could tell from watching people wander in for the last few minutes, it was a club for the school's outcasts with like, two popular kids tossed in for fun. She had no clue why Quinn Fabray was in the club and she didn't really care. All she knew was that she'd shoot herself in the foot before singing a show tune. Instead she sat on the floor, back pressed to the lockers as she whipped out the iPod she'd jacked a few months before. She hadn't had a chance to change the music on it, but there were a few decent songs. Maybe the Fabrays had iTunes so that she could update it… Santana was so caught up in finding a good song that it took her a moment to realize that someone was standing beside her. Then that someone shifted and she caught a glimpse of white tennis shoes in her peripheral. Dark eyes slid over to them, then slowly up the length of the legs that were attached. Long legs, lean body, blonde hair. And that smile.

_Blue, _is her first thought. The eyes that had been in her head all day were blue, sparkling with interest now as they stared down at her in return.

Even close up, Santana couldn't figure it out. What was with this girl? Why was she staring like that? She had thought that close up, her motives would be clear. Santana had _always _been good at judging people, at seeing through them with just a glance. But looking at the blonde cheerleader now, she only had more questions. "Hi," she said, her voice bright as she offered the Latina a small wave. Santana didn't move, just continued to scowl as she looked up at the girl standing beside her. It didn't seem to bother her. She motioned towards the choir room, head tilting slightly. "Are you coming in?"

"No." The answer was sharp and uninviting as Santana shoved her ear buds into her ears. She didn't want to deal with this.

"Why not?" Blue eyes went wide as the blonde squatted down beside her. Santana looked over, eyes narrowing in the other girl's direction. Was she for real right now? "It's lots of fun, even if sometimes Quinn likes to pretend she hates it. We get to sing and dance… You obviously like music." She grinned and reached out, a nail tapping against the iPod's screen. The close proximity and the brush of the girl's hand had Santana stiffening. She didn't like to be touched. The blonde seemed to realize it. Her hand withdrew slowly, though her bright expression didn't change.

"No," she snapped again. There was something so… unnerving about this whole situation and Santana couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe it was the fact she didn't understand what the girl's reasons were. Maybe it was because, despite pulling her hand away again, the blonde was still squatting at her side with that smile in place, eyes bright and sparkly and really irritating.

"Okay." She shrugged. "I'm Brittany, by the way." She watched her expectantly while Santana only glared in return. When it became obvious she wasn't going to answer, her expression became baffled. Santana thought she kind of looked like a confused puppy. "It's your turn to tell me your name, Santana," she whispered and the Latina's eyebrows lifted at the comment. Was she for real right now?

"Why do I need a turn when you obviously already know my name?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because it's polite. Besides, I kind of want to hear you say it. I like your name and your voice is super sexy, so I think it would be a good combination." There was a long pause in which they only stared at one another, Santana getting more and more confused by the second. What did this Brittany girl want? Why was she here?

"I'm Santana," she finally said, dragging it out slowly as if she expected it might trigger a bomb. The blonde's – Brittany's – smile grew, expression lighting up with the introduction. Straightening up again, she smoothed down her Cheerios skirt and nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Santana. I'm going to be late for Glee, though, so I'll talk to you later." And with that, she was off towards the choir room, disappearing through the closed door. The iPod lay forgotten in Santana's hand as she stared at that door, trying to puzzle out the blonde's motives. What the fuck just happened? She wondered if maybe Brittany was trying to play nice with her in order to get her to try out for the Cheerios. But that didn't make sense- every Cheerio she'd seen today had avoided her like she had the plague. No matter how much she thought, she couldn't figure out why the fuck the blonde would be talking to her.

It never occurred to her that maybe Brittany was just being nice.


	4. And Yet

**Yup. Another chapter. Sorry it took so long. Real life is getting in the way. **

Santana didn't stay sitting outside that choir room for long after that. There was just something weird about that girl, and besides, she had bigger fish to fry and she wasn't gonna catch them sitting on her ass in a hallway. As soon as she heard the first drifting notes of some Broadway ballad, she was on her feet and walking through the empty hallway with her hands shoved into her back pockets. God, fuck, she needed to get away from here. This place was already stifling. She rolled her shoulders as if to rid them of the weight of suffocation and left the building at a trudge, head bobbing slightly to the song playing through her headphones. There were only a few people loitering outside the school, but she didn't want anything to do with them. So she headed away, didn't even realize her feet were carrying her to the football field until she was stepping beneath the bleachers, staring out at it as if she might spot the Cheerios practicing from here. But of course, they didn't have practice right now. Otherwise Quinn and Blondie would be out here instead of in some lame choir.

A familiar smell tickled Santana's nose and she glanced over, eyes landing on a boy down at the far end of her small space. He was watching her, a cocky smile on his lips as he rolled a joint back and forth between his fingers. He was hot, she guessed, but his hair was styled in a Mohawk and she really hated those. Santana might have rolled her eyes and dismissed him except that she hadn't smoked in a while and maybe a couple of puffs would relax her enough that she wouldn't be completely bored for a little while. As quickly as the thought came, though, she dismissed it. If she went back to the Fabrays high, she'd get her ass booted out in a matter of hours. She couldn't risk that. Still, a contact high wouldn't be her fault… right?

"What's up, my hot little Latina mama?" he crooned and she did roll her eyes then, taking the words as an invitation to approach. The smell was a comfort, familiar in a way this stupid town and the fucking school weren't. The scent alone made her feel more relaxed around the strange guy, though she wasn't stupid enough to completely let her guard down. Isolated location, big, muscley guy with a douchebag haircut? Didn't add up right. Santana didn't trust men right off out of principle, and she certainly never approached one without an ulterior motive. Not that Santana couldn't stick up for herself, because she could, but she wasn't stupid either and she knew when she'd be outmatched.

She would _never _end up like her mama.

"Does that actually work with the chicks around here?" she snarked in return, edging closer with her eyes flicking between the joint and the boy's eyes. He was already high, which was to her advantage. Meant less of an effort if she needed to kick him in the balls and make a break for it. But Mohawk Douchebag shrugged and his expression didn't change. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, but everything about him was so cheesy that she couldn't help but smirk at him. What a loser. Lima Loser. God, this town was probably full of them.

"You're the first one I've gotten to say it to. Not a huge Spanish population around here. So you tell me."

"I'm not Spanish." Dark eyes rolled. God, what a moron. "I'm _Hispanic. _And no. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but you have zero game."

He patted a hand to his chest dramatically, his smirk growing. "Babe, you wound me." A laugh escaped him and then he was motioning her over, holding out the joint in a manner that seemed completely friendly. "What's your name, mama? You want a smoke?"

Santana eyed the joint, completely tempted but not quite willing to bend. So she shook her head and Douchebag shrugged, stubbing it out against the metal pole of the bleachers. "Santana," she said at last, though she suspected everyone in the school already knew about the Fabray charity case. The thought was only confirmed when he nodded and looked completely unsurprised, his hand reaching into his pocket for the wallet he had there. The remainder of the joint was tucked away for later and Santana took note, just in case she decided to bum it later. And by bum, she meant steal. Not like he would report her. It was pretty much impossible to report someone for stealing a joint. Silence fell between them and Santana grew more and more irritated, eyes narrowing. "And do you have a name or am I supposed to call you Moron if I ever talk to you- which, by the way, seems pretty doubtful right now."

Mohawk Douchebag grinned and repocketed his wallet. "Puck," he replied. "Name's Puck. And by the looks of you, I'm real happy we met. But I've gotta get gone. Fuck if I wanna stick around here. Place sucks." Santana nodded in agreement and started to wonder if maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all. "Later." He sent her a wave and she nodded in return, watched him leave with suspicious eyes before relaxing in the isolation of her own company once more. She was familiar with being by herself, so whatever. No big.

Over the next few weeks, it became routine. While Quinn was off singing in glee club, Santana went and stood with Puck while he smoked. He tried to convince her to fuck him a couple of times, but her continued denial had them falling into a surprisingly friendly-ish relationship. She learned that he was on the football team and that he had a sister, a mother, and a deadbeat dad. He had a pool cleaning business and he was a known ladies' man around Lima. So he said, anyway. In turn, she told him… well, next to nothing. "I don't want to talk about it" was usually as far as he got on any topic. And over those three weeks or so, she hardly saw more than a glance or two of Brittany.

And yet.

And yet she continued to flit around the edges, an almost unreal girl that always smiled or waved or simply looked whenever Santana spotted her. It was unnerving, to say the least. Santana didn't trust people like that. People who were just… nice? There was always a reason, always a mask. No one was nice to you for nothing.

And yet.

And yet she couldn't find a motive, no matter how hard she tried. Brittany gained nothing with those small waves or sweet smiles. And when she stared the way she sometimes did, there seemed to be nothing in her blue, blue eyes but interest and… something she couldn't read, but it wasn't bad. It didn't help that when she asked Puck about her, he only shrugged and said, "She's hot. Not the brightest bulb, but real fiiine." Then there was a smirk, followed by, "Not a bad lay, either." For some reason, that didn't sit well with Santana.

Still, she didn't say a word to the Cheerio in all that time. She didn't want to because she didn't understand her. Not like she understood Puck. Not like she understood Quinn. Brittany managed to do something that no one had since Santana had been eight years old. She scared her. Which like, weird, because they'd had a total of one conversation and this shouldn't have even been an issue. She was just some fucking _girl. _One who was, by all accounts, stupid and slutty. The exact type of girl Santana had always hated. And yet, and yet, and yet… She'd done a good job avoiding her for the most part. The few classes they shared she sat far away, hardly sparing the blonde a look. At lunch she sat with Puck and the football losers, flirting shamelessly as she tried to pick which boy toy she would use and abuse. After school she went immediately to the bleachers, thus avoiding another awkward conversation outside the choir room.

All of it for nothing because one day three weeks after arriving in Lima, Santana walked into the Fabray household and found Brittany S. Pierce sitting on the living room couch as if she'd been waiting for her there all along.


	5. En Español

**Here you go. Sorry, finals and shit lol… I've had like half of this sitting in a Word document for a while. It's a really short update, but I know I kind of left you hanging and I wanted to give you a little something. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or like… hope you're having a good day. C: **

Well, to be fair, she wasn't just sitting there alone so it wasn't creepy or anything. She was sitting with her legs folded up, facing Quinn with a bunch of papers and a textbook between them. Still, though, coming home to find the blonde in the Fabray living room was definitely unexpected and Santana froze, staring at her with an automatic scowl shaping her features. Quinn didn't as much as glance at her, but Brittany did. Those blue, blue eyes lifted and flickered in her direction and she smiled so brightly that Santana wondered how she wasn't simply glowing. "Hi," she said warmly, her head tilting in that sweetly innocent way that kind of made her resemble a puppy. Except puppies didn't have dangerous eyes, she thought, and however beautiful the blonde's eyes were… There was something there. Something that made her nervous. Santana just didn't know what it was.

"Brittany." Quinn's irritated voice cut through their impromptu staring contest when it became clear the brunette was not going to answer. "Spanish homework, remember? That's why you're here." She glanced between the two of them, focused on Santana with a frown. "Did you need something, Santana, or did you plan to just stand there staring at us like a creep? We're studying."

Santana slowly looked to Quinn, her eyebrows lifting slightly. "I'm not stopping you, Fabray. I live here too, remember? If I want to sit in the living room, then I'm going to sit in the living room. I couldn't care less what you do." Point for me, she thought when Quinn's frown deepened and she turned away from her again. The smirk she wore didn't last, though, when she realized she'd now have to make good on her threat and actually sit in the living room with them. Well, fuck. She'd screwed herself over with her own bitchiness. Slowly she moved into the room, watching the two blondes as she wandered over to an armchair and sank down onto it, legs crossed over one of the arms. And for a while it remained just like that. Santana on the chair, the other two on the couch, her eyes glued to them. Quinn was attempting to teach Brittany some Spanish phrase, but she wasn't getting it at all. It got to the point that that Santana snorted out a laugh, immediately drawing the attention of the uptight cheerleader.

"What?" she snapped and Santana widened her eyes innocently, holding up her hands.

"Nothing," she replied immediately, smirking. "It's just funny hearing a little white girl trying to teach another little white girl Spanish. Your accent blows, Fabray."

"You think you can actually teach her to say 'My cats have their own bedroom' better than me? Be my guest." Smirking, she folded her arms over her chest and waited for Santana to attempt it.

She hesitated for a second. From what she'd heard of Brittany, the girl was a few crayons short of a box. At least that's what Quinn had said to her when she'd demanded to know why the girl kept staring at her. _She's harmless, Santana, relax. Just a little dim. Sweetest person you'll ever meet, though. _Whatever. It wasn't like Fabray was getting anywhere with the girl. "Move your ass, Fabray, and let me see what you're studying." The girl moved and Santana took her place, eyeing the textbook at her weird sideways angle for a moment before nodding. "Okay, Brittany. Let's get this done." It took about five minutes to explain and soon enough the blue-eyed blonde was stringing the sentence together all by herself, her expression deadpan and accent perfect. Santana smirked and glance at her foster sister and Quinn only tossed her hands up in frustration.

"Fine, whatever. _You _tutor her then. I'm going to go do my own homework." And then she gathered up her things and headed out of the room, muttering something under her breath that she didn't quite catch.

Santana waited until she was gone before looking back at the other girl. She hadn't moved, but she was looking at Santana now with this little smile in place, eyes sparkling and so fucking _blue _that she wanted to ask if she wore fucking contacts or something because no way real eyes could look like that. "You know Spanish," she accused and Brittany's smile turned sheepish before she shrugged and nodded. "Is there a reason you were pretending not to before going all Ricky Martin on us?" This seemed to amuse the blonde because she giggled and lifted her shoulders again.

"I knew Quinn would tutor me if I asked her," she replied, as if that explained everything. Of course, Santana only grew more confused.

"And you… _want_ the harpy to tutor you?" she ventured slowly, unsure if that's where she was headed with this.

Brittany shook her head. "Nope. I just knew that you lived with her. And that you speak Spanish." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked so amazingly guilty that Santana wondered how she'd even managed to lie well enough to convince Quinn that she needed a Spanish tutor. But then, maybe she hadn't had to lie to her. It seemed most people willingly believed that Brittany was an unintelligent blonde stereotype. "I thought maybe you'd want to… help me, if you were around. But then I guess I just wanted to make you win so I said it right. They do, by the way."

The whole speech had been rather confusing and the last sentence didn't help that fact. "Who do what?"

"My cats. Well, sort of. They like to stay in the guest room since we pretty much don't use it ever. So we call it the cat's room."

"Oh That's really… Wait, no, rewind. Why does it matter that I live here? I don't do crazy stalkers, kid. Not my kind of movie." She was one hundred percent serious when she said it, but Brittany again seemed to find it funny. She laughed and shook her head, blonde ponytail bouncing as she reached and pulled one of Santana's hands to her with both of her own. Toying with tan fingers, she glanced up at Santana and smiled again.

"I'm not a stalker. Or like, not a creepy one. I just wanted to actually talk to you without you running away."

Santana eyed her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because you're hot and different from the other people here. I just wanted to actually meet you for more than two seconds. You can be my Spanish tutor instead of Quinn."

Shaking her head, the brunette pulled her hand free and looked down at it with a frown. Not a big toucher, but for some reason it had taken an effort to ease her hand free. "You don't need a Spanish tutor," she reminded the other girl when she looked up at her again. Only a shrug answered her.

"Then you can spend tutoring time telling me about yourself or something, Santana, I don't mind. I just think you're super pretty and I want to be your friend."

It was by far the strangest encounter of her entire life. She was not a big friend maker, nor was she a huge fan of talking. They didn't know each other at all, for Christ's sake, so why was she so interested? Dark eyes bore into blue, searching for ulterior motive or some other form of deceit. Instead, all she got was a cheerful smile and warm, happy disposition. So she nodded and the blonde clapped happily, bouncing on her spot as Santana immediately wondered if she was making a huge mistake.


	6. Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer

**ooc: Omg I haven't updated in so long, I apologize. Here ya go. Disclaimer: I know no Spanish, soooo sorry for mistakes. (;**

Weeks passed and Brittany never left her alone after that, except when she had to. Normally this would have pissed Santana off. She hated people clinging to her and it was for that reason she never made friends. Well… that, and she was never in one place long enough to keep friends. It was easier to leave when there weren't people you were leaving behind. Santana knew that better than anyone so she'd stopped trying to make anything more than casual acquaintances years and years ago. But the thing about Brittany was… Well, it was impossible to say no to her and those blue, blue eyes. One look and Santana found herself shrugging and grumbling, letting the blonde follow her wherever she went.

And it was more than just Brittany waiting up now. Santana found herself smoking under the bleachers with that Puck kid during morning Cheerios practice, watching with deliberately disinterested eyes as the cheerleaders practiced their routines. Again and again her gaze was drawn to the blonde, watching as she flipped and twirled and performed each move with exquisite precision and this sort of natural fluidity that she found impressive, even though she pretended she didn't. Holy fuck, the girl could move. "As easy as fucking breathing."

"What's that you said, Satan?" Puck drawled.

"What? Nothing. Shut up and pass me the joint, asshole."

She also sat outside the choir room during Glee club, pretending to wait for Quinn when really she just wanted to see Brittany before they had to go home. After a while, Brittany took to slipping her arm through Santana's, saying that she wanted to spend more time studying now. Santana didn't pull back, even though physical contact had never been her thing. It was definitely Brittany's. She was always touching, hugging, petting. She was always saying silly things, like how sexy Santana was and how much she wanted to sleep with Johnny Depp.

And the crazy thing was, Santana found that she didn't mind. She kind of had at first, but they'd fallen into a rhythm over time. To the point that Santana didn't even notice that she was doing all of her homework and that she hadn't started anything since coming here or that she pretty much spent all her free time with Brittany S. Pierce. "We were made to be best friends," Brittany said to her one day, grinning as she took Santana's hand and laced their fingers together. Then, almost shyly, "I'm glad I found you."

So there they were in the Pierce's house, sprawled across Brittany's bed with Santana doing her science homework while the blonde painted her toenails. The whole thing was routine by now and so the two didn't even speak as they went about their tasks. Not for a while. But, as always, Brittany got restless as soon as the paint had dried on her toes and she sat up, bouncing slightly on the bed as she flexed her tensed muscles and did a few stretches.

"Britt, do you mind? You're moving the bed. I'm trying to concentrate," Santana mumbled, eyes focused fiercely on the worksheet beneath her pen. Her eyes slid up and then quickly back down, a frown shaping her lips. She felt this flood of… it had to be embarrassment as Brittany stretched, her shirt riding up so that she showed off that sleek dancer's body of hers. The truth was, she needed Brittany to stop doing what she was doing because it was making it really hard to focus on science. Chemistry was totally not as interesting as… say… Anatomy. Asking Brittany to stop was also for her own peace of mind. She didn't like the thoughts that had been in her head in regards to Brittany the past couple of days and she would really rather not think about it at all, ever.

"Sorry, Santana." Brittany stopped her stretching and moved up to sit beside the brunette, her arm sliding companionably around her waist. Her head leaned against her shoulder and for a quiet minute, she watched Santana scribble sciencey words down across her homework. A line creased her brow as slowly, very slowly, her lip poked out in a pout. Santana didn't even need to look at her to sense it and she frowned a bit, penciling in another answer before she turned her head to study her friend. A brow lifted and she didn't even have to say a word for Brittany to understand the question behind the expression. "Can you tutor me now?" There was a flash of surprise in dark eyes as they met pale blue, followed by a reluctant laugh and a small smirk.

"Britt, you don't actually need me to tutor you in Spanish, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, San." She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she nuzzled into the curve of Santana's shoulder. "I know all the class stuff, but I want to learn what they don't teach in class." Quietly she added, "Like specific words and swear words and sexy words. They don't teach that to us." Santana swiped her tongue nervously over her lips, looking back down at her chemistry worksheet as her heart jolted in her chest. Fuck if she'd admit to that, though. To Britt making her nervous. She trusted Santana and the dancer was just about the sweetest, most innocent girl in the entire world. No way a fuckup like Santana was worthy of it, but she was selfish enough to want to keep this.

"Why do you need to know that stuff?" she asked wryly, but there were nerves beneath the question. Because she wasn't looking at Brittany, she missed her quick smile.

"I don't need to. I just… want to. So I always know what you're saying."

"Uh… Okay." She shifted uncomfortably and set her homework aside. "What words do you want to know?"

"What about… Duck?" She reached over and snagged her stuffed duck, Egbert, hugging him close as she smiled eagerly across at her best friend. Santana's heart felt like it was being squeezed and she laughed, shaking her head.

"_Pato."_ She repeated it again, watching Brittany closely. Her friend's blue eyes were locked on her lips, watching her form the words with rapt attention. Santana squirmed slightly under the stare, uncomfortable with its intensity.

"_Pato. _Okay, now… _" _She tossed her arms around Santana and hugged her close, face buried in her shoulder again. "Hug!" she mumbled with a giggle and Santana's heart started thudding in her chest as she hugged her back and rested her cheek against her shoulder.

"A hug is _abrazo,"_ she murmured into her shirt, fingers playing absently with the shirt collar her fingers were wrapped around.

"_Abrazo. _A hug. Got it." Brittany nodded slightly and pulled back again, just enough so that she could look down at Santana again. She was still smiling, but it was softer now. "What about…. Kiss? What's a kiss?" Santana's stomach swooped uncomfortably and she shifted awkwardly again, tongue darting nervously out over her lips.

"W-well. A kiss would be _beso." _Why the fuck was this making her nervous? Santana motherfucking Lopez never stumbled over her words like a jackass, and she definitely didn't get nervous over some blue-eyed dancer chick asking her how to say 'kiss' in fucking Spanish.

"_Beso. _But what about… like… the action word?_"_

"You mean the verb?" When Brittany nodded again, slowly, blue eyes locked on brown, Santana sucked in a sharp breath. "Well… I kiss would be the same. _Beso. _You kiss would be _besarte. _And we kiss would be…" She trailed off because she suddenly realized just how close their faces were. She could feel Brittany's warm breath on her lips, could see the way the blonde's eyes were half-lidded in that sexy way she had when she was getting what she wanted. That soft smile was still in place as pink lips eased closer.

"We kiss…?" Brittany prompted in a whisper and Santana felt the slightest feathering of her lips against hers and knew, _knew, _she was in fucking trouble. This was wrong. She should have been pushing the other girl away because she wasn't fucking _gay, _and they were technically kissing. Santana had kissed plenty of people before though, way sexier kisses than the barely-there way their lips brushed now. It should have been fucking easy… But she was frozen in place, staring at the taller girl with shock and a nervousness she'd never felt before. She'd never felt _anything _like this before..

"W-we kiss is… _besamos."_

"_Besamos." _Brittany nodded slightly, eyes dropping to focus on Santana's lips. And then suddenly they were kissing, mouths locked together as long, pale fingers tangled in dark hair to ease Santana closer. Santana had never experienced a first kiss like it, warm and slow and deep, like the blonde wanted to discover every bit of her mouth as she moved in closer. Usually kisses were kind of sloppy and gross. A lot of the time she ended up with a tongue thrust halfway down her throat. Brittany's, in contrast, just barely grazed over her lower lip. It elicited a shocked moan and Santana's mouth opened to Brittany's, her body pressing closer so that curve melded to curve. "I like this one, San," Brittany breathed against her, teeth scraping over Santana's lower lip. "_Besamos. _I could totally get down with that."

"Kiss me again," Santana whimpered and Brittany did, their bodies slowly sinking back against the pillows as hands and lips and tongue explored the newness of one another. It was probably the hottest makeout session Santana had ever had and she was pissed at the universe or God or whoever controlled this shit because she'd been like. Permanently ruined for any guy who wanted to get their mack on with her. Fucking ridiculous. She was flat on her back underneath a _goddamned girl _and she couldn't make her hands shove her away. Her brain wasn't even working right at this point. All it could thing was, _holy fucking shit, kiss me harder, give me more, show me everything…_

"How do you say love?" Brittany asked when they stopped to breathe, her forehead dropping against Santana's. "Like, how would you tell someone that you love them?" Santana stared up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to pull some air into her lungs. The words registered and she licked her lips again, nervous, terrified. She didn't want to tell her because she didn't want Brittany to say it to her. She didn't want to hear those words. They were experimenting, right? Teenage girls – especially hot teenage girls – did that. It totally wasn't gay. But those words were, and she didn't want to say them. By then, though, she had stared for too long into those cheerful blue eyes and she found herself giving in. "_Te amo." _The hand curled over the back of Brittany's neck drew her down, brought their mouths closer together. Right before she fused their lips, she whispered,

"_Te amo, _Brittany."

She'd remember later to explain that it was a friendship thing, that this couldn't mean a goddamned thing beyond what it was. Making out was one thing. Feelings… She didn't do those. Except for physical feeling, and right now there was a bare thigh pressed between her jean-clad legs and long fingers molding to her breasts and talking would have to come later. That was plenty enough feeling for her and goddamn, holy fuck, it felt so fucking _good_. Just haven't gotten laid in a long time, she tried to tell herself. But she didn't really believe that was why this was happening.

She tried to, but a part of her whispered that this had been coming ever since she'd opened her eyes to see Brittany next to her. Ever since the blonde opened her mouth and said "hi" and asked her what her name was.

Santana Lopez was so beyond fucked.


	7. Tequila Nightmares

**Look, it didn't take me forever to write this one. :'D Be proud. (PS- remember how this story is rated M?)**

* * *

><p>Nothing happened. Well, okay, obviously <em>something<em> happened because they'd made out on Brittany's bed and had pretty much been dry humping or whatever until she'd felt so ridiculously turned on that she wanted nothing more than to strip off and feel the blonde inside of her. Of course, the instant she realized she wanted that, she'd put a stop to… whatever it was they were doing. Because making out was one thing, but actual sex? That kind of went beyond 'experimenting' and into 'super gay' territory.

As soon as they'd broken apart, she'd rolled off the bed and began searching immediately for her backpack so that she could leave. No way could she stay here with the panic building in her chest and making her ache. She had to get out of here. How could she explain that one slip could lead to her leaving this place for good? And she was pretty sure that getting her mack on with a girl was a big no-no. Red flag, she thought. She couldn't let this happen again.

But before she could start fully panicking, before she could find her bag and peace the fuck out, a hand slipped into hers. She spun to snap at the other girl, to tell her she wasn't into girls, to tell her to fuck off… But those blue, blue eyes stared back at her, questioning and sweet and worried, and she couldn't do any of that. Instead she only stared back at the girl, glared really, her lips pressed together to keep all the words that burned on the tip of her tongue from escaping. For sever long moments, the silence stretched between them. And then Brittany smiled faintly and swung their joined hands between them, her tongue swiping her lips before she asked, "Want to stay and watch a movie?"

So… she stayed.

They fell asleep together that night with the movie playing on Brittany's television and pressed together- or, more accurately, Brittany pressed into Santana with the darker girl's arm reluctantly placed under the blonde's head. The entire time they watched, she considered how fucked she was and how stupid it was that she was staying here. But when she looked down at the other girl, she was already asleep and Santana couldn't find it in her to wake her up. It didn't take her long to follow Brittany into unconsciousness after that.

And then the nightmare came.

_Where was daddy? She searched the house for him but she could not find him. The hallway went on and on and all the doors were locked and when she tried to scream his name, nothing came out. Daddy, daddy! But there was no sound. Like a movie with the volume turned off because it gave her mother headaches._

_Mommy was in the kitchen. __Mamá__… ¿Dónde está__papá?_ _But as much as she wanted to ask, nothing came out of her mouth. She could only watch as Rosetta Lopez downed the funny smelling drink in the bottle, swaying on her seat as she did so. She looked so angry. She'd been crying._

"_No one goes to Heaven, Santana. No one. It doesn't fucking exist. There is mo motherfucking God. Don't let anyone feed you that bullshit. We all die and rot in the fucking ground." Santana shook her head, scared now. She tried again to ask, somehow managed to push her voice past her lips. _

"_Mamá__… ¿Dónde está__papá?" _

_The bottle flew at her, smashed on the floor by her feet so that she screamed and jerked away, her feet jumping back so that they landed on crushed glass. Again she cried out as the shards pierced her flesh, cut the soles of her feet so blood stained the tiled floor. "You stupid piece of shit! Look at the fucking mess you're making!" And her mom was in front of her, eyes red and swollen, grip firm on her arm. Santana began to sob and her mom yelled at her again and again. "__¡Cállate! ¡Cállate!" And then, snap! There was a crack and fiery pain in her arm like she'd never, ever felt before. Her mother tossed her to the floor, swore._

"_¡Cállate! I'm going to kill you, you little bitch!"_

_Santana._

_It was all her fault. Daddy was gone and her mama said it was because of her..._

_Santana! _

_No, mama! Please don't hurt me! I'll be a good girl!_

_San!_

Santana jerked into consciousness, confused by the darkness of the room and the bed beneath her. She was shaking and her heart was beating way too fast and she was terrified. Then a dim light clicked on and she found herself staring into blue eyes so unlike her mother's. Blue eyes that filled with concern as they drew closer. And then Brittany drew her in, stroking her back as Santana trembled in her arms. She felt the cold sweat that dampened her skin, made her clothes cling to her body. And when she tasted salt on her lips, she realized she was crying. How embarrassing. The memories less and less often as the years passed, but sometimes they woke her up like this and she was back with her mother all over again.

"You were screaming," Brittany whispered against the top of her head, her lips pressing feather-light kisses against it. "Did you have a bad dream?" It made Santana cringe slightly, silent. She didn't want to answer Brittany, to give her any more than she had. Opening up meant exposing herself to more hurt. She was better off without people. She didn't need to be close to anyone. It only brought pain…

"I need to go." She pulled away from Brittany and stood, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. They were trembling and she was kind of worried they wouldn't hold her weight, but she couldn't fucking stay here. She just… couldn't. Not when Brittany would ask questions about why she was clutching at her arm as if it hurt, why her feet felt like they tingled where there were still scars from that long-ago incident.

"Go where? San, it's the middle of the night. Just stay." Brittany reached for her again, but she shrugged her off.

"I can't. I just… Can't, Britt." She stood, slipped her feet into battered Converse, and swung her bag onto her back. "I need to go."

"San-"

"Stop!" She whirled on the worried blonde, snapped at her before pressing her hands to her damp face. "Just… stop, Brittany. I can't… I need to go."

And then she turned and left the room behind, moved quietly through the house until she was out the front door and down the steps and… gone.

* * *

><p>The nightmares always set her back so far. When she thought she was finally settling, they'd hit her and she'd remember and ask herself what the fuck this was all for. What did any of it fucking matter in the long-run? She'd end up like her fucking mother, dead on some slab because some fucking douchebag beat the shit out of her…<p>

It was with that mindset that she found herself beneath the bleachers the next day, downing alcohol like water so that by the time Puck joined her, she was already more than halfway to drunk off her ass. He stared at her, then slowly placed a cigarette between his lips, bending down to study her. "Reason you're getting fucked up?" he questioned and she smirked up at him, that sultry smirk she saved for when she wanted to get her own way.

"Need a reason?" she returned and he shrugged, puffed at his cigarette. It was laced. She could smell the weed burning in it. He must have been running low if he was mixing his shit with tobacco. "Gonna give me that, Puckerman?" Her smirked at her and shook his head.

"No way. This is the last of my stash, Lopez." Santana shifted up on her knees, shuffled closer until she could run a finger down his fly. "What are you-?"

"Make it worth your while." And she rubbed him through his jeans, felt him harden predictably beneath her hand. It felt good, powerful, to know she could still do this. That she was still in control, that she could drive guys crazy with just a look and a touch. And if he felt different from the soft press of Brittany's curves, who the fuck cared? She didn't need some fucking girl. Didn't need anything but to get drunk and smoke some fucking weed. Santana watched with satisfaction as the boy stubbed out the laced cigarette and passed it over, his now-free fingers going to his zipper. Yup, boys were so predictable.

He freed himself, stroked his length until he was completely hard. Yeah, so fucking easy. Santana smirked up at him and batted his hand away, replacing it with her own. Not long after that, she had her mouth wrapped around him, sucking him off like a pro until he came and readjusted himself in his pants again. "Damn, Lopez," he panted, a hand combing through his Mohawk. What does a guy gotta do to get some more of that."

"Maybe later, Fuckerman," she said in a dull voice that lacked its usual bite, and then she edged back to her seat beside her bottle of tequila and lit the cigarette again with her own lighter. "Girl can't give away all her damned secrets at once. Now get the fuck out of here." She stared down at the burning tip of the cigarette, dark eyes distant. _Like mother, like daughter. _Puck started to leave, but he hesitated just before stepping out from beneath the bleachers.

"You okay, Santana?" he asked, but she didn't answer. Didn't even seem to hear him. With one last frowning look, the boy left her alone with her booze and weed. Alone. Just the way she fucking liked it.

Santana was well past fucked up when her second visitor arrived, this time not at all as welcome. Quinn Fabray, gold cross glinting around her neck and pleats flicking around her thighs, did not at all seem like the under-the-bleachers type of cheerleader. And fuck, of all the goddamned people to find her, it had to be Quinn fucking Fa-pray. Here she was, completely trashed, and the one person to find her was the one student in this goddamned hellhole with the power to fuck up the deal she'd made with her social worker. A single word to her parents and she'd send Santana packing. No doubt exactly what she wanted. "The fuck you doing here, Fabray?" She was pretty sure she managed to say it with some intimidation, even if the words all slurred together.

Quinn stared down at her with disgust, her nose wrinkled. "You're drunk," she muttered with a roll of hazel eyes, toe nudging the empty tequila bottle. "You look ridiculously pathetic, Lopez."

Santana narrowed her eyes and flicked her middle finger up in her direction. "Fuck off." She so wasn't in the mood for Little Miss Holier Than Thou and her speech about sin or whatever the fuck. She felt sick and she was pretty damned close to passing out and how the hell had Quinn even known to come looking for her? _Puckerman. _Now it suddenly made sense why he chilled under the bleachers too.

"Feel sick?" Santana scowled but didn't reply. "Mhm… Well, get it out now. If you puke at home, mom and daddy will be suspicious. What's the point of getting kicked out because you're an idiot?"

"Fuck. _Off." _Santana tried to snap the words, but she was feeling it churning in her stomach now and she was afraid opening her mouth would force it up and out. Quinn only raised an eyebrow, smirking at her as if she knew just how much her stomach was aching. As if she knew something Santana didn't. Bitch.

"San?"

Shit.

Her bleary eyes went beyond Quinn to the second blonde just stepping under the bleacher to join them. Blue, blue eyes stared down at her with the same concern as last night. "Are you okay, San?" But instead of answering, she flipped over onto her hands and knees and started to puke. It felt like she was vomiting up every organ in her goddamned body, and to make it worse, she felt a gentle hand press to the center of her back. She knew it wasn't Quinn, and when Brittany began to rub gentle circles against her back while whispering words of comfort, Santana found that she hated herself more and more.

"You don't want to be here," she gritted out when she could, her voice rough with sickness. Brittany only smiled gently and drew her against her side, nuzzling into the side of her neck. When Santana looked nervously for Quinn, she found that the other blonde had left. She could see her red pleats walking across the parking lot, no doubt to get her car. "We almost fucked last night."

"We did?" Brittany looked at her, head tilting. "I'm pretty sure we only made out."

Santana clenched her jaw and looked away from her. She couldn't stand to see those eyes when she said tonelessly, "I gave Puckerman a blow job this morning."

Silence. And then only, "Okay." She glanced over at the blonde and saw with some confusion that Brittany was still smiling at her, fingers softly stroking through her hair now. Her bafflement must have shown because Brittany touched her fingertips to her chin and pressed their foreheads together. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. It's okay." Santana stared at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend the fact that someone actually gave a shit.

And for the first time in years, she let herself be held while she cried.


	8. Hear My Heart

…**Yeaaah no excuses. Happy late chapter, as usual. I'm sorry, I'm basically making this up as I go so if anyone has like something they want to see, this is a damn good story to request things for. Haha… Also, I'm graduating in less than a month. That's college, not high school. Does that count as a good excuse? :p**

* * *

><p>Quinn's car pulled up alongside the bleachers and Brittany helped Santana up and into the back seat. "Don't throw up in my car," Quinn ordered sharply as Brittany crawled in behind the drunken girl, but Santana could do nothing more than curl up weakly on the soft leather, sweat-dampened skin sticking to it. The instant Brittany closed the door behind herself, she pulled Santana into her again and the shorter girl was too tired to fight it. It didn't even matter that Quinn was driving or that she looked at them in her rearview mirror as she pulled back into the parking lot. It didn't matter because Brittany was warm and soft and she felt… safe. She was safe.<p>

"Drop us at my house, Q," Brittany murmured somewhere above her, and even though her voice was soft, it wasn't a question. Santana saw Quinn nod before she shut her eyes and buried her face against the blonde's stomach. She didn't give a shit anymore what Saint Quinn thought or if she told her goddamned parents or if it got her shipped off to some boarding school for homeless youth or something. All Santana Lopez wanted was to forget about the nightmare, forget about her mother, forget about herself… But then she felt soft fingers combing gently through her hair and she thought, no, she didn't want to forget about herself. If she did, then she'd have to forget about Brittany and she didn't want to do that. Maybe what was happening between them wasn't quite clear and maybe she didn't know how to feel about any of it, but Brittany was probably the only person Santana had actually considered a friend since… ever.

Maybe Puck was kind of a friend too, since he obviously went and got Quinn after their earlier run-in. And Quinn… Maybe she was kind of cooler than Santana originally thought, since she was driving her straight to Brittany's instead of bringing her home as proof to her parents of her misbehavior. Maybe… Maybe she'd made a couple friends since being here, even if she hadn't meant to. Fuck, she was going soft.

"San, we're here." She mumbled some protest, pressed closer to Brittany with her nose nuzzled against her hip, unwilling to leave the warmth and safety of her embrace. But it was Brittany who was coaxing her, nails running back and forth over the back of her neck as she spoke. "Come on, sweetie. We can cuddle even better if we're not all squished into Quinn's back seat, right? Let's go. I'll help you change and we can lay in my bed and watch a movie or something, okay?" Santana sighed against her, but managed a small nod before easing herself slowly up. Everything spun, but she didn't fall again. Mainly because Brittany was holding her up, one hand at her waist and one as her shoulder as she opened the door and slipped out. The second Santana managed to get to the edge of the seat, Brittany was scooping her up bridal style, holding her close against her chest while Quinn got out and opened the front door to her house.

Why the fuck was Fabray being so nice anyway? She'd made it clear from day one that she didn't like Santana, that she wanted her to get the fuck out. Why was she…? But the heavy thoughts were too much for her right now so she let her head roll onto Brittany's shoulder before she passed out.

* * *

><p>When Santana woke, the first thing that hit her was how disoriented she was. Mostly because it was dark and she didn't know how she'd gotten to wherever she was. Not right away, in any case. It wasn't until she saw glowing green eyes peering at her through the darkness (and after she jumped and exclaimed something in Spanish that roughly translated to "motherfucking cock shit fuck") that she recognized the room was Brittany's, complete with the overweight tub of lard she called a cat glaring at her for taking up free space on the bed. The next thing she became aware of, due to her own yelp of surprise, was how dry her mouth was and how bad her fucking head hurt. Someone seriously could have told her that she'd been hit over the head with a hammer or a brick and she would have believed them.<p>

Then the memory of it all crashed back down around her and the teenager moaned quietly, her hands pressing to her eyes. God, she'd fucked up bad. What would happen now? Would the Fabrays kick her out? Would Brittany tell her that she was disgusted with her and tell her never to come back? How the fuck could she even explain all of this? Santana looked up slowly, wondering where Brittany was. A glance at the alarm clock by her head told her it was 7:38 already. Santana swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood slowly, scowling at Lord Tubbington as he inched his way up the mattress and curled up in the spot she'd occupied moments before. Greedy bastard, she thought darkly as she stumbled her way to the door. Only fucking thought of him—"Jesus fuck!" Santana had opened the door just as someone else was stepping up to it and they both jumped, Santana crashing back into the door with a thud and another curse while Brittany jolted and spilled half the glass of water she carried over her shirt. "Shit, B, I'm sorry. I didn't expect… Sorry."

Brittany only smiled softly and waved her off, moving further into the room. "It's fine, San, don't worry. How're you feeling?"

"Like shit."

The blonde made a sympathetic noise and slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling it out again with two pills sitting in her palm. She passed them to Santana and then offered the glass she'd spilled from a moment before, her smile sheepish. "This was for you, but if you want the rest then you're going to have to lick it off my chest because that's where most of it ended up." Santana froze with the glass halfway to her lips, stared at Brittany in disbelief. The other girl didn't notice. She was too busy pulling the shirt out so that she could look down at the dark patch left behind by the spilled water, oblivious to how suggestive her comment had been.

So Santana completed her sip and downed the pills, trying hard not to stare as Brittany crossed to her dresser and whipped her shirt off in order to exchange it for something dry. It was impossible. How the fuck was she supposed to just, la la la looking casually at anything that isn't Brittany, when the girl was standing there shirtless pawing through a dresser drawer. Not that she was like, indecently exposed or something. Santana could only see her back and she was wearing a bra and her pants were still on, but… God, she was fucking gorgeous. Like, drop dead gorgeous. People paid to look like Brittany, and from what Santana knew of her, Britt just looked like this naturally. Like, she had a serious workout routine and stuff, but she could pack away a double cheeseburger and fries without regret and not gain an ounce. Fucking insane…

"… Earth to Santana…"

Brown eyes snapped up, realized with some dismay that Brittany was smirking at her and that she was obviously waiting for an answer to a question that Santana hadn't heard. "Uh…"

"I asked if you were hungry." Santana met those amused blue eyes briefly before dropping her gaze again, nose wrinkling at the thought of food. Quickly she shook her head because if she ate, she would definitely puke, and Brittany nodded and slipped a tank top over her head before moving to tug Santana down onto the bed with her. Lord Tubbington jumped down, affronted, and waddled off in search of a less intruded-upon sleep space. "Quinn told her parents you were spending the night here to work on a project and that you forgot your phone in her car so you couldn't tell them yourself, so." She smiled again, tugged Santana down onto the mattress beside her. She went without protest, too grateful to the blonde for helping to protest. Besides, that safe feeling from before hadn't left with her sobriety and Santana wanted nothing more than to stay curled in Brittany's arms all night. Which Brittany wrapped around her a second later as if reading her mind, drawing her in so they were front to front with the smaller girl's head tucked under the taller girl's chin. It was silent. For a stretch of time. Then…

"I dreamt about my mother." Santana breathed the words against Brittany's collar and Brittany tightened around her in response, her lips pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of Santana's head. It gave her courage and before she knew it, the story was bubbling out of her without stopping, words she'd never spoken aloud to anyone, not even all the therapists the state had sent her to for years after her mother's death. "When I was four, my papa left us. For some woman, I don't know who, because I guess he… He got her pregnant. They…" She licked her lips, whimpered quietly when she realized she was crying. "They said he got her pregnant, some woman, and then when he was leaving their car went off the road and…" She shrugged, shoulders lifting helplessly beneath the heavy load they carried. Brittany pulled her closer and said nothing. "Mama, she told me he left because I was whiny, I wasn't good enough, it was my fault for wanting too much from him and… she drank. She drank a lot. And she got mad, so mad…"

And so Santana told Brittany about her dream, brows knit as she tried to separate the facts from the frightening dream world it had evolved in. She spoke about the scars on her feet from the shattered glass, the way she'd had to tell the doctor she'd tripped down the front steps when he asked how she'd broken her arm. She went on to detail leaving their house for the shitty apartment, about the men, about her closet. She told Brittany what it was like to be hungry. For food, for kind words, for gentle looks. She told her about the alcohol, the drugs, the sex. All of it. And Brittany listened.

When it was over, Santana looked slowly up and realized that the other girl was crying, too. Panicked, she reached up and touched her damp cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Fuck, I'm such a screw-up, so fucking selfish—"

Brittany's lips cut her off, slow and tender and adoring against her own as long fingers tangled in dark hair and edged her closer. "You're the bravest person I know, Santana Lopez," she whispered into her, smiling through her tears as she kissed Santana's cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. "The strongest, bravest, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world…" She found her mouth again and Santana didn't even think to pull away. Instead she let herself melt into the kiss, that safe feeling wrapping around her like a blanket until the only thing she could feel was the heavy thud of her heart, each beat for the blonde kissing her. _Brittany, Brittany, Brittany. Thank you, thank you, thank you…_

The two kissed and kissed, nothing more, losing themselves in the sweetness of their embrace. She fell asleep that night in her best friend's arms, and she didn't stir again until morning.

No nightmares.


	9. New Knowledge

She woke the same way she fell asleep- with lips against her own, soft and sweet and sleepy. Santana smiled into it without even realizing, humming against Brittany's mouth as the other girl stroked her fingers through her hair. They communicated without words, their eyes and lips saying all there was to say. A flicker of blue, _are you okay?_ A flash of brown, _yes, because of you. _A curl of pink lips, _you make me happy. _A tongue swiping nervously over a full mouth, _please kiss me again. _And so Brittany leaned in and caught her lips with that same smile in place, her hand shifting to cup the back of her neck to draw her closer. The moment grew longer, grew deeper, and Santana shifted so she lay half over Brittany now with a hand stroking over her hip. Brittany let her without protest, turning her body so they pressed together and her arm could loops around her waist.

"School," Santana breathed, tearing her lips away as if ending the connection might snap them back to reality. It wasn't really working. She only wanted to lean back in and take that mouth again, wanted to keep going.

Brittany laughed, just a quiet giggle as she buried her face in the side of Santana's neck. "Saturday," she replied, smoothing her hands down her back as her breath tickled the side of the smaller girl's neck until she shivered. "It's Saturday, San. No school." Gentle kisses fell against her neck and Santana relaxed slowly, breathing out a sigh of relief. Truth be told, her head was aching just a bit and her limbs felt heavy with a need for more sleep and she just didn't want to deal with school for so many reasons. As if reading her thoughts, Brittany snuggled her closer, tugged until Santana's full weight lay draped over her as she nuzzled into her shoulder. "We can just lay in bed all day," she suggested quietly, fingers tracing slow patterns over Santana's back. "Watch some movies, sneak sweet lady kisses, eat junk food…"

It sounded perfect and she smiled before she lifted her head to gaze down at Brittany, studying her kind blue eyes and her sweet face with a tenderness Santana Lopez never felt, let alone showed. There was just something about this girl that made her feel… different. Like she could be better. Like she could be more.

Like she could be everything.

"I'd like that," she murmured and was rewarded with a sweet smile as the blonde drew her down again and into another kiss.

"Best day ever," she replied, and Santana knew she already she agreed.

* * *

><p>"Saaaan."<p>

A grunt.

"Santaaaaaanaaaaa."

Another grunt.

"Sleepy San, wake uuuuup." Brittany stroked a finger down the bridge of her nose, her words ghosting along the shell of her ear.

A small smile flickered across her lips and Santana cracked one eye, peering up at Brittany through her lashes. She must have drifted off during the movie because a glance towards the TV showed that the credits were rolling and she groaned, stretching slowly before curling around Brittany again.

"Did you not like it?" Brittany asked, and the hint of a pout in her voice made her wince slightly as she burrowed closer.

"It was good," she said quickly. The first ten minutes she remembered, anyway. "I just… had a bit of a hangover sticking around. I feel a shit ton better now, though. We can watch it again if you want?" Her head lifted and she met the blonde's gaze, trying to make sure she could see that she felt bad about falling asleep. Maybe Finding Nemo wasn't her type of movie, but it really hadn't been too bad in the beginning. Sad as fuck, but not bad. She'd just been dragging.

Brittany giggled and shook her head. "No, it's okay. You can just borrow it… Do you want to go out to lunch? There's this awesome restaurant…" There was an uncharacteristic shyness to Brittany's voice as she toyed with Santana's fingers, looking down at their hands. "I think you'd like it and I'd like to take you. You know. If you want."

Santana thought over her words, and her actions, carefully. Why was she being weird about it? If she wanted to go get something to eat then it wasn't- Oh. It suddenly occurred to Santana that Brittany didn't want to just go out, she wanted to take Santana out. Was she hinting at a date? Did she want to go on a lunch date, a real one, where she paid the bill and everything? The idea of it made her stomach flip and it was impossible to tell if that was a good feeling or not. "Uh…"

"Like a date," Brittany breathed, as if she could read Santana's mind. "I really want to date you, San, but if you don't want to then it's okay. I mean, I understand if you-"

"Yeah." The agreement startled her, but Santana didn't take it back. Brittany, too, seemed surprised by the firmness of her answer and she stared back a minute before a slow smile began to form.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I… Yeah. A date. Cool."

Brittany exhaled slowly. "Awesome.

* * *

><p>Breadstix. Is. Fucking. Amazing.<p>

That is the conclusion Santana came to during their meal, right at the very beginning where she chomped on a breadstick from the container on their table. They got free refills on these? Awesome. She wondered if she could run out quick and buy like… a bucket or a wheelbarrow or a dump truck or something to fill with these deliciously amazing, buttery treats from Heaven. It almost made it possible to believe in Quinn's God.

Brittany watched her across the table with this mixture of amusement and genuine affection. Santana wasn't quite sure she deserved it yet, but she really fucking hoped she would soon because no one has ever looked at her the way Brittany looked at her. Like they wanted her around, like she deserved to be appreciated… Santana would never get used to it. She smiled across the table at the other girl and Brittany smiled brightly back, her entire face lighting up with Santana's attention. "You like it?" she asked and Santana nodded enthusiastically.

"Italian is like. My absolute favorite. And these things," she waved a breadstick at Brittany, "are fucking incredible." Brittany laughed and shook her head, glancing up as the waitress approached and put their food down in front of them. She thanked the woman – Santana did too when she was prompted with a nudge from Brittany's foot – and then they were alone again. Suddenly she felt kind of nervous because here was this awesome dinner that Brittany was paying for and it was just them and it was a fucking _date _with a _girl _and… what the fuck was she doing? But then she felt Brittany's ankle slide against her own and the warmth flooded her and she remembered. She was on a date with _Brittany. _Brittany, who was sweet and amazing and actually gave a shit about her.

Brittany, who watched her across the table like she couldn't believe her luck, like she was the lucky one rather than Santana. Brittany, who was gorgeous and sexy and smart, even if no one else understood her the way Santana had from the beginning. A goddamned shame because she was about the most fascinating person she'd ever encountered and the fact people couldn't appreciate that pissed her off. And why did she get her? Why, of all people, was it Brittany she got and Brittany who got her? What was happening here?

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." The answer came so readily to her lips that it took a moment to register how honest she'd just been, and how much she'd opened herself up. Brittany's head tilted and a small smile curved her lips, charming and inquisitive, and Santana felt the heat flush under her skin again. "I just… I'm thinking about you, and this, and… everything. About what we're doing and what it means…"

"And what _does _it mean?" she asked quietly in return, still smiling as she brought a forkful of spaghetti to her mouth. There was a hint of sauce left behind just at the corner of it and Santana wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but the idea made her nervous so she kept her hands to herself and Brittany swiped her tongue across her lips a moment later anyway. What was she thinking? God, there was the question of the fucking century. She was thinking about how it was a date and how that was super fucking gay. She was thinking about how they kissed a lot and that was kind of super fucking gay too. She was wondering if a date meant they were dating or if it was more of a friend thing. She was wondering if Brittany would be offended if she flinched away from holding her hand where people could see or sad when she refused to kiss her in the presence of others. All of that and more crowded her mind, filled her up so that she couldn't even think of a coherent response for the poor girl across from her.

Then a foot hooked around her ankle and Brittany offered her a bite of spaghetti and she realized that she didn't need to give any sort of reply at all. She got it.

She got her.

* * *

><p>When they got back to Brittany's, they found Quinn sitting on her front steps with Santana's phone cradled between her hands. For some reason, it seemed odd to Santana to see her in clothes that weren't her Cheerios uniform and she realized how very little she paid attention to the girl she actually shared a house with. Seeing Brittany in her shorts and loose shirt (paired with suspenders and a fuzzy bear ear hat that should have made her scoff, but instead had her thinking Brittany was adorable as fuck) was no big because she was pretty much constantly with Brittany after school. Seeing Quinn in the pretty, modest dress with her hair loose around her shoulders, however… It was weird. Like seeing a dog walk on its front paws or something.<p>

"Where have you two been?" she asked as she stood, a bit of a bite to her words. Santana stiffened, taking an automatic step to put some space between herself and Brittany.

"Looking for an apartment for me," she sneered in reply, "For when your parents kick me out on my ass."

Quinn rolled her eyes and shoved the phone into Santana's chest, frowning at her as her arms folded across her chest. "You've still got a room, Lopez. I didn't tell them about you being an idiot." Hazel eyes flashed beyond Santana to Brittany and back again. "I may be a bitch, but I get it, okay? I get having a hard time with things. I get needing a moment to let go. So stop with your pity party and bitchy defense mechanism because I didn't say anything to them." The words surprised Santana and guilt made her heart thud uncomfortably to the point where her head tilted away. There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence as the two girls avoided looking at one another, Santana not quite sure how to be grateful and Quinn not quite sure how to accept any sign of gratefulness. Brittany must have understood them both, though, because after a minute she stepped forward and gently touched Santana's wrist with just the tips of her fingers.

"We went to grab some lunch," she said, and again Santana felt an uncomfortable shift in her heart, thankful for how casual the blonde made it sound even as she wished they could be more honest about what it had been. Santana sighed and looked up slowly, just in time to see the smirk Quinn wore before it faded into a neutral expression. Her eyes darted between the two of them as if searching for words beyond the ones that were spoken until at last she shrugged.

"Well. I just wanted to drop that off, so… I'll leave you two be again. See you at school." And for the first time, Santana saw something in Quinn she wouldn't have expected. Something she hadn't seen before because she wasn't looking close enough. But she saw it now as Quinn turned away from them and went to head back to her car, beautiful and proud. And alone.

Quinn Fabray was lonely.

"Quinn," she said before she could bite it back. The other girl stopped and turned a bit to face her, shoulders tense as if braced for some sort of biting comment or insult. But Santana didn't have any more words. There was nothing in her head, no ideas as to what she wanted to say to her foster sister. What was there to say? Thanks for not telling your parents about me ditching class and getting shit faced? Maybe you're not as big a bitch as I thought you were? Yeah, because that didn't sound bitchy.

"Do you want to stay and watch a movie with us or something?" This from Brittany, who seemed to know exactly what Santana wanted to say without Santana even knowing. She smiled at Quinn when the Cheerios captain hesitated, her arm slipping through Santana's. "And then we can have dinner later or something. We could make cookies and eat junk food and wear our pajamas and have a pillow fight! It would be totally awesome." She was bouncing on her toes now, the excitement building with the idea. "And you could sleep over with us too. It'd be our first ever slumber party, just the three of us. Totally awesome." Santana looked sideways at her, couldn't help the soft smile that touched her lips.

When she looked back to Quinn, those sharp eyes were on her. "Sure, Fabray. I guess I could deal with your presence for a night or whatever."

Surprise followed the words and then a small, tentative smile. It took her a minute and Santana was about to snap at her that they didn't have all night to debate the invitation when she finally nodded once in agreement. "Okay. Let me just go get some stuff and… I'll come back."

"Awesome!" Brittany chimed happily.

"Whatever," Santana replied with a roll of her eyes. Quinn climbed into her car, moving faster now as she pulled away from the curb and headed back to her house. Brittany and Santana stood silently for a moment and then the taller girl gave her a tug, pulling her around until she was facing her again. Their lips came together before the brunette could even think to expect it and she made some sound of surprise, hands lifting to Brittany's hips. "What was that for?" she breathed when they parted.

"For being super cute and sweet and amazing and also for being extremely sexy," Brittany said back with a grin. The words shocked her into a momentary silence and Brittany giggled, turning away to all but skip back into the house.

When her legs worked again, Santana stumbled after her with a half-hearted, "I am not fucking _cute._"

* * *

><p><strong>Um. Late, yes, I know. Sorry. This story shouldn't be much longer. Lemme know if there's anything you'd like to see before it's wrapped. <strong>


	10. Night Light

She's never had an actual "slumber party" before, but she learned quickly that it was something that she would not have enjoyed with anyone else. There was too much girlie bullshit, too many estrogen-soaked activities, and it just wouldn't have sat well with her old self. Her new self, though, the one that wanted nothing more than to be with Brittany, found that it was actually kind of… enjoyable. Quinn braided Brittany's hair into intricately woven patterns and Brittany carefully stroked polish onto Santana's toenails with her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration while some sickeningly sweet romantic comedy played onscreen. It wasn't like she was going to make a habit out of doing this kind of shit, but when Brittany looked up and smiled at her, saying something about this being one of her favorite movies, Santana could do no more than smile in return and accept that she was going to do whatever Brittany wanted, whenever she wanted. The girl was so fucking happy just to be around Santana and Quinn and there was no way to get the image of her smiling like that out of Santana's head. So… She went with it. She accepted that this was what made the blonde happy and therefore did whatever she wanted to do.

Quinn just kind of went with it as well and Santana figured it was because she was just so damned happy to be included in something that she'd do fucking handstands to secure her place on the couch behind Brittany. As the movie played, she hummed quietly under her breath with the songs, smiling happily at their comments or at the movie's dialogue. Santana watched her a bit, but mostly she didn't take her eyes off of her… friend? Was Brittany her girlfriend? Santana wasn't sure. Maybe they didn't count as a couple since she didn't want too much of what they were to show in front of other people. She hadn't even touched Brittany for more than a second since Quinn came back, too weirded out by the idea of her seeing something between them that she didn't want her to see yet. Or at all. Whichever.

They made pancakes around ten at night. "They" being primarily Quinn while Brittany and Santana picked at the bowl of chocolate chips they were dropping on top of the batter as it cooked, the blonde sitting on the counter with Santana leaning back casually between her legs. Every once in a while when Quinn was focused on pouring out more batter, Brittany's fingers grazed her hip or her foot traced lightly over her thigh. Sometimes she reached around her head and placed chocolate between her lips, fingers lingering a bit longer than necessary. Santana accepted all of this somewhat nervously, glancing at Quinn to be certain the other girl hadn't noticed. However, the other blonde remained oblivious to their more intimate touches, and the pancakes were soon cooked in perfectly round, chocolate studded disks.

They enjoyed on the floor of Brittany's living room, giggling like children over oozing syrup and cocoa smears as yet another film played on the TV screen. Well, Brittany and Quinn giggled. Santana mostly just rolled her eyes and bit her lip in defense against Brittany's warm smiles so that she wouldn't smile back like an idiot. That would be just too obvious because Santana never really smiled the way she did around the other girl. When they finally decided to sleep, Quinn curled up on the armchair while Brittany and Santana shared the couch. Santana lay beneath the taller girl, stroked her back beneath their blanket as Brittany drifted against her. Her breath was warm, feathering over Santana's neck while her dark eyes remained on the screen. A glance left showed that Quinn had passed out and she took the opportunity to turn her head and press a kiss to Brittany's forehead without being seen. The blonde stirred, lifted her head up from her shoulder to smile sleepily down at her. "Hi," she whispered and Santana rolled her eyes, but smiled as she returned the greeting. "You're pretty," Brittany continued, her nose nuzzling against Santana's before she softly pecked her lips.

"And you're exhausted." The brunette smirked, glanced quickly to the chair again before taking pink lips in a longer kiss. Brittany sighed into her and lifted a hand to stroke through dark curls, long fingers cupping her cheek to urge her closer. It didn't take much convincing and the kiss deepened languidly until the sleepiness vanished from both of them and morphed into something more. Something beyond. There was heat and longing and Santana knew it couldn't go further with Quinn right there, but it felt so fucking amazing. That long dancer's body was moving against her now, hips rolling in a lazy circle where she rested between the smaller girl's thighs. It drew out a quiet sound of pleasure from both of them until at last Santana sank her head back, nudging Brittany back to breathe and clear her head.

"Come upstairs with me," the blonde whispered against her ear before she could even regain her composure and there was no way to protest when they were like this and her head was full of fog. So they quietly lifted themselves from the couch and stumbled quickly towards Brittany's room, tripping over one another as they struggled to maintain contact on the way. Seconds later and Santana found herself pressed against one of the other girl's bedroom walls, body arching beneath the weight of Brittany's body as soft hands wandered her body. "I want you."

The words were quiet and unselfconscious, delivered in Brittany's usual direct manner. There was no dancing around it, no flowery lines or nervous shifting. Those blue, blue eyes Santana so adored stared directly into hers, clear and strong and sure. And because it was said in a way that was so very Brittany, Santana knew there was no saying no. She wanted it just as badly, if not more. So she let her fingers tangle in blonde hair, tugging until their lips connected again. "Yes," she mumbled dreamily. "Yes." And it was all they needed to say. Her back found the bed soon after that, pressed into it with Brittany hovering over her and their lips brushing. A golden waterfall of hair fell around their faces, shielding them from the world as they moved together, slowly learning each other in a way neither had expected but both accepted. Maybe it was just easier to do when the darkness of night surrounded them, the only light that which filtered through the blinds from the street lamp closest to Brittany's house.

Their clothes almost seemed to melt away, shirts eased slowly over heads and shorts pushed down toned thighs. "You're so beautiful, Santana," Brittany whispered against the side of her breast, lips brushing sensitive skin as Santana gave a shaky sigh and combed her fingers through Brittany's long hair. It wasn't the first time the girl had said it, but it still made her heart beat just as fast.

"Britt." It was all she could say, but it didn't matter. The other girl seemed to understand, as her lips curled up into a smile and she nuzzled happily against her for a moment before continuing to kiss over her skin. Her lips wrapped around a stiffened nipple, tugged it gently as Santana gasped and arched beneath the soft pressure. Never in her life had she felt something like this. Never in her life had she come alive beneath hands or mouths like she was now, unable to stop moving, unable to stop feeling. It was like every nerve ending on her body stood on alert where Brittany touched, begging for the feel of her skin and lips on her. "Please..." And knowing what Santana asked for, Brittany lifted up and kissed her again while a hand ventured down, skimmed along her stomach before easing between parted thighs.

Another gasp filled the bedroom as Santana broke the kiss to inhale sharply. It had Brittany smiling a bit, Santana's lower lip caught between both of hers as fingers slipped between wet folds, parting them to find the place she wanted to explore most. First one, then two eased gently into Santana, filled her as she moaned and bowed, hips canting up to meet the gentle pressure of her. It was almost overwhelming, the pressure in her belly and the sensation of clenching muscles. Never in her life had she experienced pleasure like this. And now… Now she was feeling it with a girl. It would have scared her if she could think about it, would have absolutely sent her running. But her mind was so full of Brittany, Brittany, Brittany that she couldn't focus on anything but her.

Until.

"Guys, where did you-" The door swung open and a sleepy-eyed Quinn stepped in, only to stop and stare in shock at the scene she encountered. Santana scrambled beneath Brittany, yanked a blanket over herself even as the taller blonde sat up, startled, and stared right back at Quinn. There was silence for a long, drawn out minute before Santana finally snapped, "Way to fucking knock, Fabray."

Quinn blinked, then suddenly turned and left the doorway again. The sound of her footsteps echoed all the way to the front door before they heard it open and slam shut again. A second later, the sound of her car could be heard driving off.

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